


Fleeced

by APgeeksout



Category: Wilde Life (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, Sharing Clothes, Unrequited Clifford Norman/Oscar Wilde, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 01:48:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5478785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/APgeeksout/pseuds/APgeeksout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clifford knows he's going to have to give the hoodie back one of these days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fleeced

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fadeverb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadeverb/gifts).



Clifford knows he's going to have to give the hoodie back one of these days. Which, whatever, it's a little too red to look right on somebody with his hair anyway.

He can't just give it back, though. No fun in that. Oscar does that thing where he asks-without-asking about it all the time - looking him up and down meaningfully whenever he sees him wearing it, making pointed references about whether it's "jacket-weather" out when he leaves it at home. Clifford's gotten so good at pretending those little hints don't register with him at all that there's no way he can actually just _respond_ to one of them now.

He wonders, sometimes, about the way Oscar never just says _hey asshole, give me back my stuff_ and about the way the upstairs bathroom window is never locked (even though the latch works just fine; he's checked), whether it's that dumb kind of fun for Oscar, too: making big gestures toward his shirt just to see if Cliff will blink this time. They're gonna play a few more rounds; maybe he'll figure it out.  Figure out Oscar. Or himself.  Or both.  

When he does hand it back over, he's already decided that he'll slip in through his window when Oscar's off doing boring old-people stuff (Sylvia will see him, but she's a cool ghost; she'll probably even help him mess with Oscar just a little) and sneak it into the closet or hang it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. Just leave it behind to see if Oscar will ever say anything about it.

But that's going to be a little while off, 'cause he still likes wearing it. It's warmer than it looks, and it gets chilly in the woods at night, sometimes.

Plus - and this is the part that's so fucking dumb he can feel his face turning red all the way up to the tips of his ears when he catches himself thinking it - it _smells_ good. Like a different laundry soap than the one his mom uses, like aftershave and clean sweat, like coffee and a good fried breakfast, like the fresh, kinda sweet scent around Oscar's place that he thinks is, somehow, Sylvia. To a normal person, it probably smells mostly like teenager by now, but Cliff's got his super-keen teen wolf nose, and when he tugs the red hood up around his face, he can still breathe in everything about the little white house - how there's always someone there and always someplace to sit quiet (even if that's hardly ever what he wants).

He's going to have to give it back one of these days, but he'll be putting that day off for as long as he can.


End file.
